Tradition to Keep
by SerenLyall
Summary: It had always been a tradition: on her birthday they would dance, just the two of them. Father and daughter. Prince and Princess. And for a few moments, nothing else in the world would matter.


**Disclaimer:** _Star Wars_ and all characters, places, names, etc. there related-to do not belong to me. They belong to Disney and all other respective owners.

**Rating/Warnings:** K+; canon character death

**A/N:** I really should be better at posting things I finish writing. Because this has been finished for a good two months, and I'm only now getting around to posting it here. Apologies. I hope that you all will still fully enjoy, regardless of tardiness - and I would absolutely love any and all feedback. Honestly, good response helps encourage me to keep posting that which I've written (and yes, that may have been a half-hearted attempt at bribery. I'm sorry to have fallen so far into discouragement), as well as giving me ideas of what's good or what to work on. Truly though, most importantly, I hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Tradition to Keep**

_The tradition began on Leia's first birthday._

"Just where do you think you're going, Lelila?" Bail asked, swooping down to scoop his errant year-old daughter into his arms. The little girl shrieked as she felt herself lifted and spun through the air, but then she giggled and reached for her father, seeing who it was who had picked her up.

"Look Papá," Leia announced, with all of the grinning solemnity that a one-year-old could. She had learned to talk early—far, far too early, in Bail's opinion, who had felt his body go cold when she had first said "Papá" at only two months old-but though her sentences were still often garbled, there was a distinct purpose beneath his daughter's words that made her sound more than twice her age.

"Look at what?" Bail asked, grinning as he settled Leia against his hip and lifting an eyebrow expectantly in the way that always made her giggle.

She didn't disappoint, but as she giggled she pointed a finger at him, bumping his chin. "You," she said. "Look you."

"Looking for me?" Leia nodded, smiling brightly. "Why were you looking for me?" Bail asked his daughter.

Leia wriggled in his arms. "Dance!" she demanded. Then frowned, her lips puckering and her thin eyebrows lowering over her dark eyes. "Please?" she added.

"I would be honored," Bail replied with gracious formality, before his grin returned in full force as he kissed Leia lightly on the nose. "Anything for my princess on her Birth Day."

_No, no. It began before that. A year before that, in a dimly lit cabin on a fleeing ship on one of the darkest days in the galaxy's history..._

"Shh, Leia," Bail crooned, holding the squalling babe close to his chest as he sat, cross-legged, on the bed. "Shh, little Leia. You're safe, you're safe," he whispered. And prayed that it was true.

The newborn continued to cry, her wails thin and shrill. They tore at Bail's heart, making him bleed and want to cry himself. He was helpless in the wake of his new-found daughter's agony-helpless to do anything but hold her and make empty promises that she couldn't understand, promises that were as much for him as for her.

"Hush, my little Leia," Bail murmured, readjusting his hold so that she was resting more securely nestled in his arms. "I promise," he whispered, "this will pass."

The medical droid had said her cries were from hunger or cold—that they were normal, if her episodes more frequent and more intense than was usual. "She is a newborn," the droid had informed him in its matronly, automated voice. "All newborns cry."

But Bail knew that this was something more-knew that his little Leia's cries were for reasons that ran far deeper than hunger or cold, or even the discomfort of space flight. Even as a babe, Obi-Wan had warned him, she would be extremely perceptive, extremely conscientious of personal bonds, of relationships, of the emotions belonging both to herself and to others around her.

And she had already lost so, so much, though she was less than a day old. Her mother (_Lord of Death, shepherd her spirit,_ Bail prayed silently). Her father. Her twin brother, torn from him without a second thought, perhaps to never see him again...

And if Obi-Wan was to be believed, the galaxy itself was in mourning. The galaxy was swimming with sorrow, with simmering anger, with blackblack hatred—all things that could overwhelm even the most stoic of adults. All things that _had _overwhelmed the most stoic of adults, even though they _knew _how to comprehend and cope with those feelings.

How could a newborn, who could neither comprehend nor know how to cope with such such an attack, _not _scream?

"Please, Leia," Bail begged, voice thick and eyes closed tightly. "Please." _Please forgive me,_ he finished silently.

Leia wailed again, trembling and exhausted.

"Shh," Bail echoed. He bent his head, placing a feather-light kiss on his daughter's head. "Shh, Leia. I'm here. I'm here."

Leia whimpered weakly. It was clear she was exhausted, clear she was on the cusp of falling asleep. But it was just as clear that she could not—not yet, not as tangled as she was in the throes of whatever agony beset her...

Bail stood, holding her carefully, securely against him. And then he began to hum, low and soft, an ancient, half-forgotten waltz. And slowly, carefully, he began to dance with her, his footsteps steady and slow, his movements graceful and calm. He moved, humming and dancing slowly, around the dimly lit cabin, his attention focused on the babe in his arms, all of his will bent upon soothing whatever aches plagued his daughter's heart.

Leia's whimpers trailed into quiet sobs which, after another moment, faded into silence. And then, almost before Bail knew she had quieted, she had fallen asleep in his arms.

_And so it became a tradition that, every year on Leia's, birthday, the two of them would dance._

"Papá!"

The cry dragged Bail's attention away from his conversation with Carlist Rieekan, and turned to see Leia running toward him, grinning from ear to ear. The dusky violet skirt of her gown swirled about her feet as the three-year-old slid to a halt beside her father and his friend.

"'scuse me, Master Rieekan," Leia said brightly, with a small curtsy. Without waiting for his nod of leave, however, she spun to look up at her father. "Papá," she said excitedly, eyes bright in her flushed face, "you promised to dance, but Mamá said I hafta go to bed soon." Reaching up she seized his hand and gave it a small tug. "Please?" she begged. "You promised."

Bail laughed, low but light. "I did promise, didn't I?" He turned to Rieekan. "If you will excuse me, my friend? I have a daughter to dance with."

_-x-_

"She'll be a beauty," Dame Darasan murmured to her husband. "Our good Prince will have suitors lined up at the gates from all around the galaxy."

"Hmm? Ah, yes," her husband said, lifting his eyes from the small datapad resting lightly in one gloved hand. He glanced over at the dance floor, smiling benignly at the sight of Prince Organa dancing with the princess. She was perched on the toes of his boots, the much taller man holding his daughter's hands carefully as he guided her. Both of them were smiling brilliantly, and the duke was reminded rather forcefully of his own son and granddaughter. "Though I would say she is more cute than beautiful," he grunted, and returned his attention to the datapad.

"Oh, I do wish you wouldn't read that infernal thing all the time," Dame Darasan snipped. She reached over and plucked the small piece of technology from her husband's hand, ignoring his irritable grumble and quiet, _"Give that back, woman."_ "Give it a few years," the older woman said sagely, tucking the datapad into her small handbag and nodding at the young princess. "She only turned five today, but give it a few years and she will be the envy of the court."

_-x-_

"If I may have this dance, my lady?"

With a spreading smile, Leia rose from her seat at the grand dining table and took her father's outstretched hand. "I would be honored, my lord," she said graciously, though the glint in her eye betrayed her glee.

With a smile, Bail led his daughter from the dining room and out into the adjoining dance hall. The music struck and swelled as they crossed the threshold, the rich, vibrant notes thrumming brilliantly through the arched hall, matching the glittering crystal of the chandeliers that shed a white-and-gold light across the sweeping marble floor.

For half a moment, Leia was acutely aware of the numerous eyes upon her and her father-nobles, government officials, visiting dignitaries, even old family friends-all of them watching as she and Bail took their place at the center of the dance floor. But then, as she began the well-known steps, sliding into the rhythm of the waltz, the feel of her father's hands around hers and the warm stolidity of his presence all around her, everything else faded away. In that moment, all that mattered was her and her father.

And so she danced, with a smile on her lips and peace in her heart.

_Never once did Bail forget his daughter's birthday - and never once did a year pass without a dance._

_"_Papá, what is this all about?" Leia laughed. A hand drifted up to touch the blindfold carefully tied about her eyes, but she did not tug it down. Not yet, at least.

Bail's soft chuckle came from the darkness ahead of her, and his hands tightened reassuringly around hers. "Just a few more steps," he promised.

Leia heard the gentle whoosh of a door opening, and then her father was leading her forward once more. She could all but feel the cool shadow of darkness fall around her as she crossed the threshold, and a small frown tugged her eyebrows down beneath the blindfold.

"Papá-"

And then, with a gentle flourish, Bail pulled the blindfold from her eyes. "Happy sixteenth Birth Day, Lelila," he announced. "I know this is a few days late, but..."

A table, set for two, sat by the window in the drawing room. Lit candles had been liberally arrayed around the bouquet of flowers decorating the center, setting the fine cutlery to sparkling in the flickering light. The faint scent of food was drifting in through a side door, setting Leia's mouth to watering.

"Oh, Papá," Leia cried, turning and flinging herself at her father. She hugged him fiercely, smiling broadly. And then she blushed, pulling away from him. "I thought..." Bail raised an eyebrow. "I thought you'd forgotten," Leia admitted quietly, her blush deepening.

"Forget my daughter's Birth Day?" Bail asked, his other eyebrow creeping up to join the first. Leia ducked her head. But then Bail smiled, and laughed. "I will never forget your Birth Day, Lelila," he said gently, closing the space between them to embrace her in a tight hug. "No matter what may come, I promise you-I will never forget your birthday until the day I die."

"I love you, Papá," Leia said into his chest, hugging him fiercely once more. "I'm sorry I doubted you."

"There is nothing to forgive," Bail assured her. "And now," he announced, and Leia drew back just enough to be able to look up into her father's face, "I do believe I owe you a dance."

_-x-_

"You look wan, Leia. Is all well?"

The young woman in question looked up at her mentor, and smiled tightly. "I'm fine, Mon," she said. "Just..." She trailed off.

Mon Mothma's gaze sharpened, and she inspected her young protégé more carefully. It was not often that Leia Organa was at a loss for words. "Leia," she began, wondering just how best to press the young woman in order to get her to open up—a difficult thing to do at the best of times.

Leia's sigh interrupted Mon, however, and Mon closed her mouth when Leia flopped down into the high-backed chair behind her desk, for once looking nearly her age. Then she looked up, her dark gaze meeting Mon's much lighter one, and for an instant Mon was struck by how young Leia truly looked—how young she truly _was_.

"I turn eighteen today, Mon," Leia said, after a few seconds more of heavy silence.

Mon waited for Leia to speak again, but when nothing more was forthcoming, she sat down in one of the chairs in front of Leia's desk, and leaned forward slightly. "Why is that such a bad thing, Leia?" Mon asked.

Though the war of emotions was as carefully hidden behind her exquisitely constructed mask as always, over the eighteen years Mon Mothma had known Leia Organa, she had learned how to read the girl's most subtle tells. And she could see now that the young woman in front of her was both troubled and upset, yet thought she had no right to be either.

"My mother was crowned Queen on her eighteenth Birth Day," Leia said at last. "She married Papá a week later."

"This is true," Mon nodded. "But why is that so important to you?"

"What am I doing here?" Leia asked abruptly, eyes flashing up to Mon's. "When my mother was my age, she was taking over rule of Alderaan. I couldn't- I..." Leia huffed an aggravated sigh. "I'm just a silly little girl trying to play in her parents' world."

Mon smiled, and tried not to laugh. "Leia Organa," she said instead, "I would hardly call you a silly little girl. Nor," she added, "what you are doing as "playing." You were elected to the Senate by your people, just as your father was. And if you are concerned because you believe yourself inadequate when compared to your mother, might I remind you that you are the youngest Senator to have been elected in the history of both the Republic _and _the Empire?"

At that, Leia laughed. "You can remind me," she said, "though I'm not sure how much better that makes me feel. Now I remember just how much work I still have to finish before the party tonight." She sighed at the thought, but if she was ill-pleased at the Emperor's invitation to celebrate her official Coming of Age at the Imperial Palace, she gave no other indication.

Then Leia smiled. "Thank you for listening to my whining, Mon," she said lightly.

"Of course," Mon replied, standing smoothly. Something else was still lurking at Leia's thoughts—Mon could tell by the way she bit the inside of her lip when she smiled—but she also knew that she would be getting nothing more from her young friend. Not now. "I will see you tonight, then," Mon said. And with that she turned and breezed lightly out of Leia's office. She had her own work to complete before the night's festivities.

Mon arrived at the Imperial Palace that night before Leia. Even so, the ballroom in which the party had been scheduled to take place was already bustling. A number of their fellow Senators milled about with drinks in hand, while smartly dressed Imperial officers chatted in small groups by the food table. Richly garbed courtiers—many of which Mon suspected even Leia herself did not know—flocked the dance floor, tittering and gabbling in their sickly sweet and lilting Palace accents, flashing their jewelry in the many-hued light cast by the floating lamps.

Leia arrived a few moments later to great fanfare, resplendently dressed in a flowing white dress, accented by the gold and crimson sash tied about her waist and the ruby pins glittering in her artfully coiled hair. Mon waited quietly as the rest of the room rushed to greet the Princess of Alderaan, all of them wishing her a merry Birth Day. Only half of them, Mon guessed—if that—meant it when they claimed they prayed that her year would be a blessed one.

At last, however, Mon found her way to Leia's side. "Happy Birth Day," she said with a smile, and offered the young woman a glass of white wine.

"Thank you, Mon," Leia replied tiredly, taking the glass and lifting it in a silent toast. "To a prosperous year," she murmured.

Mon lifted her glass as well, and took a sip. Leia, she noted, barely touched the rim of her own glass to her lips, before putting it down on a servant's passing tray and glancing about the room.

"Were you expecting someone else?" Mon asked.

Leia smiled, turning back to face Mon. The smile was more than a little forced. "No," Leia lied. "In fact, more people than I had ever imagined came." Her smile twisted bitterly. "All of them wanted to be able to say they were at the Youngest Senator's Coming of Age, I'll warrant."

_She must truly be upset, if she is being so free with her anger,_ Mon thought. For half a moment, she considered gently chiding her younger friend.

But then, before she could make her decision, a new voice, quiet but firm, spoke from behind them.

"My lady? May I have a moment?"

And Mon smiled as she saw Leia's face light up, whatever shadow of anger or sorrow that had plagued her falling from her shoulders as she whirled and, like the girl she still should have been, threw herself at her father with a joyous cry.

"Happy Birth Day, Lelila," Bail laughed, catching his daughter and swinging her in a circle. Placing her back on her feet, he made a courtly bow and, still smiling, offered her his arm. "May I ask you for this dance?"

_But Bail's words to Leia a few days after her sixteenth birthday would come true long before they should have. As it turned out, her eighteenth birthday was the last time they danced._

Luke knocked hesitantly on the door to Leia's quarters. He held his breath as he waited for a reply, afraid he would miss it if it came. It did not.

"Leia?" he called out, leaning his head against the door. "Leia, I know you're in there. Han and I... Well, we thought that since, you know, it was you and my birthday and all..." Luke trailed off, biting his lip. "I'm sorry, I'll just...I'll go."

And then he heard it-choked, strangled, half-bitten. Like a whimper, or a swallowed scream, or a...

A sob.

To Luke's surprise, Leia's door wasn't locked. It slid open with surprising ease, and in another instant, before he even had time to realize what he was doing, Luke was stepping into the cool shadows of Leia's quarters. The only light was a small desk lamp sitting on her bedside table, the weak yellow glow leaving half of the room obscured by shadow.

Leia lay at the center of floor, crumpled over her knees as if she had collapsed where she stood. Her face was hidden by both the shadow and the floor, her forehead pressed tightly against the rough duracrete. Her shoulders were shaking.

"Leia?" Luke asked quietly, taking a hesitant step farther into the room. Behind him, the door slid shut. "Leia... Are you okay?"

She didn't answer him.

The first tricklings of true worry beginning to coalesce like acid eating at his heart, Luke crossed the floor to kneel down by Leia's side. He reached out tentatively, brushing his fingers lightly against her back. Emboldened when she did not start, nor pull away, Luke carefully took her by the shoulder, and lifted her up into a sitting position.

She had been crying. That much was painfully clear. She turned her face away from Luke, letting her loosely plaited hair fall between them. But to his continued surprise, she did not immediately pull herself away from his touch.

"Leia?" Luke asked again. "Leia, what's wrong?"

She didn't answer him.

"Is there...is there anything I can do?" Luke asked, after a moment of tense, uncomfortable silence.

"Until the day I die." Her voice was hoarse and quiet, ragged from her past tears.

Luke frowned. "Until the day I die?" he echoed.

Leia nodded mutely. Then, "That was what he told me, on my sixteenth Birth Day. My father. He..." Silence for an eternal second—silence broken only by the sound of their breath mingling and joining together into a ragged, unkempt tapestry of stuttering life. Leia shuddered. "He promised me that he would never forget. Not until the day he died. And now..." A sob tore free from her hidden lips. "And now he's dead, and it's _my fault, _Luke. It's my fault he's dead—that they're all dead. It's my fault, and so I shouldn't hurt so much. I shouldn't be so upset that he's not here to dance with me, because it's _my fault. _But I am. He's not here, and I am."

"It's not your fault, Leia," Luke told her, though he knew she wouldn't believe him. "And you have every right to grieve. If I could grieve over my aunt and uncle, you can grieve over your father."

Leia shook her head, but to Luke's relief, she did not argue.

He hesitated. Wondered at the wisdom of his invitation. But then he swallowed his nervousness. She needed this, he thought. Staying alone in her room to mourn a father and a planet she blamed herself for destroying would do no one good—especially her.

"Come on," Luke said, standing and offering her his hand. "Apparently Han and the rest of the Rogues have thrown together a party of sorts, in honor of this "most auspicious day" as Janson put it." He grinned. "It'd be a shame to let them drink all of the questionably safe alcohol by themselves."

Leia laughed, quiet and low and not-quite-real. But she laughed all the same. "Very well," she said, looking up at last. She took Luke's hand and let him pull her to her feet, quickly wiping away the tear stains on her cheeks. "Give me five minutes," she said. "I'll meet you down there. I promise," she added, seeing Luke's semi-disbelief.

"Alright," Luke nodded. He smiled hesitantly. "See you in a few minutes then."

When she arrived at the hangar ten minutes later, if he hadn't known she had been crying mere moments before, Luke never would have guessed it. As it was, however, though she laughed and smiled throughout the night, it was as if Luke could still somehow sense a small, black thorn wedged deep within her heart.

_-x-_

Twenty-four. Twenty-four years of age, and already the leader of a successful rebellion.

It was strange, she thought. All at once she felt ancient, yet childish—like a grey-haired crone and a skipping schoolgirl joined into one. She was tired, and broken. And yet she felt trapped between two words, the bubbling emotion of childhood lurking just beneath her scarred skin, ready to burst forth at the slightest prod.

It made sense, she supposed, in a pathetic sort of way. No one could live through what she had lived through and not be somewhat insane. No one could _be _who she was and not harbor at least the seeds of insanity.

A knock came at her cabin door. Leia frowned, wondering who it could be. Han, of course, would not knock, as it was as much his cabin as it was hers. Mon or any of the rest of the High Council would have comm'd. Which left...

"Leia?"

Luke.

"Come in," Leia called, turning her desk chair around to face the door, which slid open to reveal her brother standing in the hallway. His hair was longer than it had been, and Leia could just make out a faint burn mark blistering Luke's cheekbone. But as he stepped into the room, bearing with him the sharp scent of soap, his shirt collar damp from wet hair, Leia could not help but smile in relief at seeing her brother hale and healthy. "I didn't know you'd gotten back in yet," she said, standing to give him a hug.

"I just got in an hour ago," Luke said, returning her tight embrace. "I thought it important that I be back for today. You know," he grinned awkwardly, a hint of the Tatooine farm boy she had first met suddenly sparking through the calm peace of the Jedi Knight he'd become, "it being our first real Birth Day together."

Leia laughed. "Then what have you called the last five years?" she asked.

Luke's grin grew to match her smile. "Those weren't official," he told her firmly. "We didn't actually know we were twins yet, so then it was just a happy coincidence. _This _year, it's official."

Leia laughed again. "If you say so, little brother," she teased.

"I'm older," Luke said bluntly.

Leia only smirked. "If you say so," she repeated.

"I do. And being the older brother..." Luke suddenly fell silent. Then lifted his eyes to meet her gaze with his, solid and firm and knowing. "I was wondering, dear sister, if you would like to dance."


End file.
